Okay
by The Communist Unicorn
Summary: After Cas's date ditches him in a sketchy bar, the night almost ends very badly, but a gorgeous, green eyed stranger comes to the rescue. (Destiel, human!AU)


**Warnings: **This story contains a scene in which a character is **almost** raped. There is also profanity, discussion of homophobia including offensive language, and explicit sex with an m/m pairing (completely consensual, I promise). The beginning is extremely dark and angsty, but I promise if you stick with me to the end, I will reward you with lots of sweetness and fluff. If you've read my other stories, you know by now that I can always be counted on to deliver a happy ending.

**Disclaimers: **Credit for the cover art goes to babeimyours of DeviantArt. See bottom of page for a list of song lyric credits.

This, like all my stories, started off as one thing and ended up as something completely different. I might revisit this at some point, but for the time being it's going to remain a one-shot (if it knows what's good for it). Happy reading, and please, please, I'm begging you, if you like it, tell me with words. I can't read your mind =)

* * *

Cas really couldn't blame Bartholomew for ditching him. The date had started off badly, the conversation progressing in fits and starts, and by the time the other man made up an excuse about forgetting to feed his neighbor's dog (first he said _his_ dog, then changed the story when Cas pointed out that he'd already said he didn't have any pets), things had gotten so glacially awkward that Cas was actually relieved. The only problem was that this bar was clear on the other side of town from Cas's place, and this wasn't New York where you could walk outside and hail a cab at any hour of the night.

God, he missed New York. Why the fuck had he let the company convince him to move to fucking Texas? And not even one of the bigger cities of Texas. This was truly the ass end of nowhere where even the cell towers were few and far between as evidenced by the stark white on black message on the screen of his smartphone. _No Signal_.

_Fuck_.

He had seen a payphone back by the bathrooms. He headed that way, digging in his pocket for change and praying that the thing actually worked.

It didn't. The cord had been torn cleanly in two, probably the result of a bar fight. This time Cas said it out loud albeit quietly enough not to draw attention. "Fuck." He rested his head against the wall, a wave of fatigue washing over him. He'd had two beers and a shot of whiskey, hoping the alcohol would loosen him up enough to make the conversation flow easily. It hadn't, and now he was drowsy and lightheaded and so desperately homesick that he thought he might cry.

The worst part was that he wasn't even sure _where_ he was homesick for. Certainly not his barely furnished house that he hardly ever saw because he spent all his time at work. His parents' elegant, obsessively clean penthouse overlooking Central Park? He hadn't been welcome there for a very long time. He just wanted to be somewhere that wasn't this stale beer and urine smelling hallway with misspelled and anatomically dubious graffiti on the walls and tinny country music playing on the jukebox. In the six months he had lived in Texas, Cas had developed a passionate hatred of country music.

He was summoning the strength to trudge back to the bar and ask the bartender if there was another phone he could use when the door of the men's room behind him opened and a very drunk man stumbled out, almost colliding with Cas. "S'ry," the man slurred, pulling up just in time.

"It's fine," Cas said. "No harm done." The reek of alcohol and vomit assaulted his senses, and he breathed shallowly as he tried to slide past the man in the narrow hallway.

"Hey. I 'member you." The man stood his ground, his broad shoulders effectively blocking Cas's path. "Saw you earlier drinkin' with that queer who works at the bank. Barney somethin'."

"Bartholomew," Cas corrected automatically, then wanted to bite his tongue off. _Do not engage with friendly drunks._ His occasional reluctant forays into New York night clubs with Gabriel had taught him that.

"Yeah." The man snorted derisively. "Fag name if ever I heard one. Say, you two looked pretty cozy. Wasn't some kinda date, was it?"

Cas, whose alarm bells had already been set off by the casual use of the other f word, now went completely cold. Adrenaline chased the warm fuzz of intoxication out of his brain, and his hands started to tremble. Fight or flight. Literal flight wasn't an option since the hallway was a dead end, but there were still options other than direct confrontation. Lying for example. "N-no. Just having a drink with a friend."

The man stepped a little closer, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I don't believe you," he said, all pretense of friendliness gone from his voice. "Cus' you sure look like a fag with those soft, pansy hands and that pretty mouth."

Cas took a step back, acutely aware that he only had two or three steps before he was well and truly cornered. He wondered if he should scream or something, but the bar was crowded and noisy, and even if someone heard him, he honestly wasn't sure if they would help or join in.

"Tell you what," the drunk said, closing the distance between them again. "Let's do a little experiment. You suck my dick, and if you don't get off on it then I'll believe you're not a pansy ass fag."

Before Cas could process this horrific turn of events, a heavy hand was shoving him onto his knees and rough fingers were grabbing his jaw, forcing his mouth open. He would have screamed then if he could, but all he could get out was a tiny whimper. He was literally paralyzed with fear. There was a clinking noise as the man fumbled one handed with his belt, and Cas used the last of his muscle control to close his eyes. Maybe if he didn't watch it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it would be over quickly and then the man would leave him alone.

He tried to find a happy place in his mind, to block out everything, but part of him was still here, waiting for the familiar hard weight of a dick in his mouth. He wasn't at all aroused by the prospect. In fact he was wondering if he would ever be able to give a blowjob again without thinking of this. He _did_ normally enjoy sucking a guy off, loved the warm, salty taste and the rush of power that came from controlling another man's pleasure like that. Underneath the all consuming fear stirred a tiny spark of anger at this stupid, bigoted redneck for taking that away from him.

But the dreaded moment never came. Dimly Cas heard a new voice shouting angrily. "What the fuck, Gordon?! Let him go! The fuck do you think you're doing?!" The heavy hands pinning him down abruptly vanished, but he still couldn't move. He knelt there on the hard floor, listening to mysterious scuffling noises, shouted words, and cries of pain. None of it made any sense to his shock and fear overloaded brain. He thought maybe he should try to run while his attacker was busy, but he couldn't remember how to make his legs work.

Then a hand touched his shoulder again, but this one was gentle, kind. The voice he had heard shouting spoke again, softly this time. "Hey. You okay? Did he hurt you? Come on. It's safe now. You can open your eyes."

He trusted that voice though he couldn't have said why. He opened his eyes and looked at … _Green_. That was his first, semi-coherent thought. His rescuer had eyes the color of the new leaves on the trees in Central Park in early spring. There wasn't a lot of green in Texas. He had missed it.

"You okay?" the voice asked again. It came from the plushest, most perfect lips Cas had ever seen on a man. And below the lips was a strong jaw with a light layer of reddish gold stubble, and then a long, muscular neck with a few tattoos climbing out of the neck of a t-shirt. The man wasn't just good looking. He was gorgeous. He was sex personified. He was … giving Cas a worried look because Cas still hadn't answered his question.

Cas opened his mouth and was relieved to discover that he remembered how talking worked. "Yes, I'm …" His voice was rough and raspy, so he cleared his throat. "I'm fine. He didn't actually —" He choked on the words, and finally just reiterated, "I'm fine." It sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

"You live in town? I could give you a ride home."

"I … I was going to call a cab." That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

"Nah. I'm cheaper." The man flashed a smile that had probably melted the hearts of women all over Texas. "Come on. My car's right outside."

Cas found that he didn't have the energy to argue. Plus that smile had kind of melted him too.

He followed the man back through the bar where it seemed that no one had noticed a thing. Maybe this kind of thing happened every Friday night, Cas thought bitterly. To his relief he saw no sign of his attacker either in the bar or the parking lot.

Although the man had said "car", Cas was subconsciously expecting a pick up truck. In Texas everybody and their grandmother drove a pick up truck. He definitely wasn't expecting a low riding late sixties muscle car, so lovingly maintained that she might have just rolled off the assembly line yesterday. The man saw Cas's expression and grinned. "Beautiful, ain't she?"

"Yes. Sixty seven?"

The man's grin widened. "Yep. Best year for the Impala. They never improved on it. You know classic cars?"

"I did a photo essay on the history of American cars for my photography course in college. I picked up a few things."

By this time they were inside the car, and the proud owner turned the key in the ignition. The engine rumbled like a tiger, and Cas found the sound inexplicably comforting to his jangled nerves.

"I'm Dean, by the way," his rescuer said.

Cas blinked, momentarily disturbed by the realization that mere minutes after being nearly raped, he had gotten into a car with a man whose _name_ he didn't even know. Even Gabriel would find that a stupid decision, and that was saying something. _Maybe I _should_ take a cab_. But the thought of going back into that bar right now made his skin crawl. Dean's car was warm and comfortable and smelled like leather and aftershave, and Cas prided himself that he had good instincts about people. He could tell when he was being manipulated and when someone was being genuinely nice, and Dean was definitely the latter.

"I'm Cas," he said.

"So where am I going, Cas?"

Cas gave his address with only the slightest hesitation, and Dean nodded and said he knew how to get there. As they pulled out onto the road, Cas glanced at the dashboard clock and discovered that barely fifteen minutes had passed since Bartholomew ditched him. It felt more like fifteen years.

"You cold?" Dean asked, already reaching out to turn on the heater.

Cas tried to say, "No, I'm fine," but his teeth were chattering so badly he could barely talk without biting his tongue.

"Yeah, that'll be the adrenaline wearing off," Dean said as he angled all the vents in Cas's direction. "You sure you don't want to go to the hospital?"

The thought of strangers poking and prodding him made Cas shiver harder. He huddled in on himself and shook his head. "N-n-n-no," he forced out past his tense jaw muscles. "J-j-just t-t-t-take m-me home."

"Okay."

The warmth from the vents did help, and as the tension left him, Cas began to feel powerfully drowsy. He rested his head against the car door and gave in to the urge to close his eyes. Seconds later he fell asleep, lulled by the purr of the engine and Dean humming softly. It sounded like "Hey Jude", but he wasn't sure.

~o0o~

He was woken by a gentle touch on his arm and a voice softly calling his name. "Cas? Cas."

He opened his eyes reluctantly. Sleep seemed like a much better idea than waking right now. He wished he could say that it took him a minute to remember where he was and what had happened, but he wasn't granted even one blessed minute of ignorance. His stomach roiled uncomfortably as he recalled the pressure of hands forcing him onto his knees and the humiliating, paralyzing terror that had made him just take it, not even trying to fight back. He pushed open the car door just in time and vomited into the gutter. The smell reminded him of the drunk man which made him heave again, but his stomach was empty now so he just gagged on bile.

Someone crouched down in front of him, carefully avoiding the puke, and Cas looked up into kind green eyes. "Sorry," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"It's okay," Dean said with a reassuring smile. "At least you didn't do it in the car. Come on. Let's get you inside."

That was when Cas realized they were in front of his house. His dark, empty, lonely house. "Will you stay?" he asked, hating how needy and childish he sounded. "Just for a little while?"

"You sure?" Dean said. "You don't know me."

"No, but you're here, and you've been nice to me. I just … I don't want to be alone right now."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

Cas's hands were still shaking so much that he couldn't get the key into the lock. He let Dean do it. And then he let Dean make coffee while he went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. When he came back out the coffee maker was burbling happily to itself and filling the house with a comforting aroma. Dean's jacket was hanging on the back of a chair, and the man himself was leaning against the counter with his legs crossed, looking around at Cas's spartan furnishings, his expression enigmatic. His arms were covered in more tattoos, climbing rose vines with little birds hiding among the leaves. The pattern was almost hypnotic, and the longer Cas looked, the more detail he saw. Some of the vines were actually made out of words, fragments of songs. _Take a sad song and make it better … Take these broken wings and learn to fly … If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you._

Cas realized he was staring and tore his eyes away from the work of art that was the man's body (in more ways than one) to focus on his face. "Why are you doing this?" he blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Doing what?" Dean asked. Judging by the smirk playing on his lovely lips, he had noticed Cas's interest and wasn't discomforted by it at all which was … intriguing.

"Helping me. _You_ don't know _me_ either. You certainly don't owe me any favors."

Dean's brow furrowed. "What was I gonna do? Just leave you there?"

"Most people would have."

"Well, I ain't them." For a moment he almost sounded angry, but then his expression softened. "Cas, I know what people in this town can be like," he said quietly. "Not all of them, but enough. I helped you because …" He looked down at his boots. " … because it could just as easily have been me Gordon started in on tonight, and I'm honestly not sure if anyone would have helped me."

Cas had no idea what to say to that. He was pretty sure Dean had just admitted to being gay, but not _completely_ sure. Fortunately the coffee maker chose that moment to beep. He moved past Dean to get cups and sugar out of the cabinet. Dean didn't move, and as their arms brushed, skin on bare skin, Cas had an almost overwhelming desire to be wrapped up in the other man's warmth, to feel those strong arms around him, holding him tight and making him feel safe again. He resisted valiantly. Living in a small and not particularly open minded town had taught him to tread carefully, be one hundred percent sure before making any kind of move.

They sat at the kitchen table and drank their coffee in silence for a while. It was a little awkward but not unbearably so. "You're a photographer?" Dean said finally.

Cas seized onto this nice, safe topic. "Not exactly. Photography was what I wanted to do, and technically it _is_ part of my job, but my actual title is marketing director. I work for Bullseye Bargains. I run the local branch's website and advertising."

"Oh. Cool."

"No," Cas said, though Dean's brave attempt at tact made him smile. "It isn't. It's boring, and I only took the job to get some experience with managing a business. And because "marketing director" looks good on a resume. What I really wanted to do was event photography. Weddings and babies and families. I wanted to capture the happiest moments of people's lives so they could look back on them when things got tough."

"So why don't you?"

Cas blinked. "What?"

"Why don't you do that? I'm not telling you to quit your job," Dean hurriedly added. "I mean, you barely know me, and you didn't ask for my advice. I'm just curious. What's stopping you from going out and doing what you really want to do?"

"Money," Cas said promptly. "Photography is a business like any other, and it takes time to get established and turn a profit. How am I supposed to live in the meantime?"

"Fair point," Dean conceded. "But couldn't you do it on the side for a while and keep your day job until you're set up?"

"I don't exactly have copious amounts of spare time either."

Dean chuckled. "Okay. Point taken. I'll butt out."

"No, you weren't intruding," Cas reassured him. "Really. It's … It's nice to talk to someone about this stuff. I don't have many friends." He realized that might have sounded a little presumptuous. "I mean, not that you're … I'm just some guy you gave a ride to. You don't have to —"

"It's okay, Cas," Dean cut him off gently before Cas could go into full on babble mode. "I'd like to be your friend. If you want to be mine."

_Oh, I want to be so much more than that._ "I do."

"Okay, then."

Silence settled over them again, and it was significantly less awkward this time, but Cas didn't want to let it go on too long in case Dean decided it was time to go. "So what do you do?" he asked.

"I own a gym. Not a stay fit, lose weight kind of gym, although I guess the stuff I do can help with that. I teach martial arts. Karate, judo, krav maga. That kind of thing. I mostly get kids, but not exclusively. The world is a scary place these days. I had this little old lady come in yesterday, probably in her seventies." A shadow passed over Dean's face. "She was mugged outside the grocery store in broad daylight, and she says now she's afraid to go anywhere without her grandson with her. And he's happy to help, but he's got a job and a pregnant wife, and she feels bad taking up so much of his time. Plus she wants to be self sufficient, you know? She's in pretty good health for her age, but she feels like an invalid needing help all the time."

"What did you teach her?" Cas asked.

"Oh, the basic dirty tricks," Dean said, a grin breaking over his face like a sunrise. "Knee to the crotch, finger in the eye socket, and if all else fails, bite them."

Cas nodded approvingly. He wondered why that hadn't occurred to him. Bite the guy's dick as soon as it was in his mouth. _That_ would have stopped him.

A warm, calloused palm settled over the back of his hand. "Hey. What's wrong?"

He looked up, but Dean's face was blurry. He was seeing it through a prism of tears. "I didn't … I didn't fight back," he choked out. "There were a dozen things I could have done, but in that moment I couldn't think of anything except just ... waiting for it to be over. I just … froze."

"Hey, hey, hey. No. Don't do that to yourself. You are not weak. Fear does weird things to your brain. I've seen big tough guys curl up in a ball and cry for their mothers when shit got real. It is nothing to be ashamed of."

"But if you hadn't been there —" He mentally shied away from any contemplation of just how much worse this night could have been.

"But I was," Dean said firmly. "Don't drive yourself crazy with what ifs. You're safe now. That's what matters. And if you want I could teach you a few things. If it would make you feel safer."

Cas nodded eagerly, partly because he really would feel better if he knew how to defend himself, but mostly because of the opportunity to spend more time with Dean. "Yes. Yes, I'd like that."

Dean let go of Cas's hand and dug in his pocket, pulling out a business card. "My number and the address of the gym is on there. Whenever you've got some free time."

"Thank you," Cas said, fingering the raised print on the card. _Winchester Tactical. Dean Winchester, owner._

"No problem. Like I said, I've been there."

Cas looked at the card one more time. A full name and a phone number. That made what he was about to do seem at least a little less crazy. "Dean, are you gay?"

Dean was quiet for what felt like an eternity but was probably only about six seconds. Finally he said, "Yes."

"Good," Cas said and leaned across the table and kissed him.

He heard Dean's sharp, surprised inhale, but he kept his eyes closed and his lips pressed against Dean's, waiting, praying that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake. Then Dean made a little noise halfway between a sigh and a moan. His hand cupped the back of Cas's head, pulling him as close as the table between them allowed, and his tongue lightly traced Cas's lower lip, a request, not a demand.

Cas pulled away, but only so that he could get out of his seat, circle the table, and plop himself down in Dean's lap. Dean's momentary look of dismay vanished as Cas pressed himself up against Dean from chest to hips and joined their mouths again. Dean tasted like coffee with a faint undertone of beer from earlier in the evening, and his arms wrapped around Cas's waist, holding him in place with just the right balance of strength and gentleness.

Less than a minute had passed since their lips first met, and Cas was already half hard, straining uncomfortably against his zipper. He rocked his hips experimentally, and Dean gave a strangled groan, confirming that he was in pretty much the same situation.

"Cas," he gasped, breaking away from the kiss. "Cas, we, uh …" He made a visible effort to wrangle his brain cells into working order, and Cas was smugly pleased with the effect his kissing had on the man. He'd been told by more than one person that he was a good kisser, but he'd never gotten such an immediate and intense reaction before. "Not that I don't want to," Dean finally managed to say, "but we don't have to do this right now. I mean, after what happened to you tonight, I understand if you need some time. I'll still be interested in a few days."

_God, just when I thought you couldn't get any more perfect._ "I don't need time," Cas said breathlessly. "I need _you_. I need you to make me forget all about him. Give me something good to remember about tonight. Please, Dean." He knew he was begging and he didn't care. He wanted this so badly, not just the sex but the human presence. _This_ man's presence. Dean's hands and mouth on every inch of him, claiming him and worshiping him, making him feel good and right and not alone.

"Okay," Dean said, and for the first time that night Cas actually felt completely okay.

~o0o~

Cas's bed was a mattress on the floor, so when they tumbled into it while kissing and groping blindly for bare skin, it was a long way to fall. Dean landed heavily on top of Cas, and their teeth clicked together uncomfortably, but that barely slowed them down. Although this was theoretically about Dean showing Cas a good time, in practice neither one of them was really in control of this situation. They were both being swept along on a riptide of need and want and _dear God, please don't stop_. It had been a long time since Dean had let go like this.

They had both lost their shirts about halfway between the kitchen and the bedroom, and Cas now rolled Dean onto his back and began exploring his tattoos. With his tongue. "How long did all this take?" he murmured as he kissed the blood red rose that sat directly over Dean's heart, the spiral of its petals formed by the words,_ Mary, don't you weep no more_.

"A few years. I started when I was eighteen."

"And is there a reason for all of them?" Cas nuzzled a little bluebird on Dean's ribs. The curve of the branch it was sitting on said, _Upon us all a little rain must fall._

"The song lyrics, yeah. And some of the other stuff." He didn't volunteer any details, and Cas didn't ask, just started working on Dean's belt. Dean was grateful for that. He didn't want to talk about that stuff right now, partly because it was too personal to share with someone he'd just met, and partly because it was kind of depressing and he _really_ didn't want to kill the mood.

After stripping Dean of his jeans and underwear, Cas slowly kissed and licked his way back up Dean's body. He avoided Dean's cock though, and Dean didn't ask. He had a feeling Cas wouldn't be ready for that for a while if ever. When Cas sucked a nipple into his mouth and bit down lightly, Dean yelped, his back arching off the bed. Cas lifted his head, grinning smugly, and claimed Dean's lips again.

Dean wasn't normally one to make comparisons while he was in bed with someone. He might rank the experience later, but in the moment he preferred to just enjoy it for what it was. Still, he couldn't help thinking that he had never been kissed like this before. Cas seemed to be trying to climb inside him and breathe the air directly out of his lungs. With what little presence of mind he had left, he fumbled with the fly of Cas's jeans and was inordinately proud of himself when he managed to get it open while still being kissed senseless.

He knew this was probably the time to ask Cas about lube and condoms and preferences regarding top or bottom, but that would take way more brain cells than he currently had available, and Cas seemed to agree. Once the other man had kicked free of his underwear, he rolled onto his back and pulled Dean on top of him, their cocks tucked snugly in between. That was all the communication required, and for the next few minutes the only sounds in the room were grunts and moans, the silky slide of skin on skin, and the occasional "fuck, yes" or "don't stop".

Their faces were about an inch apart, and they both had their eyes open, and Dean thought vaguely that this was way more intimate than an adrenaline fueled one night stand had any right to be, but he didn't care. The lost, blissful, utterly trusting look Cas was giving him was possibly the single sexiest thing he had ever seen.

Cas suddenly took one hand off Dean's hip, stuck his finger in his own mouth, and sucked it until it was glistening wet. Dean's momentary confusion was quickly dispelled as Cas wrapped his arm around Dean's waist and slipped the wet finger into the cleft of his ass, teasing his entrance. But he didn't push inside. It took Dean a minute to realize he was waiting for permission.

"Yes," he panted. "Do it. Oh, f-fuck." His head dropped onto Cas's shoulder as the blunt pressure increased, stretching him open. Not enough to hurt. At least, he didn't think so, but he was probably too far gone to notice a little pain. He hadn't known it was possible for him to be this turned on without spontaneously combusting.

"Dean," Cas rasped right next to his ear. "Look at me."

With a tremendous effort, Dean lifted his head again and looked into Cas's eyes just as wet, slightly sticky warmth flooded between their stomachs. Cas gave a low, wrecked moan that barely sounded human, but his eyes stayed locked on Dean's even as he shuddered and writhed under him. Only once his body went limp with exhaustion and satiation did he let his head fall back and his eyes slip closed.

Dean wasn't sure exactly when his own orgasm had hit. The sex had been so intense from start to finish that his climax barely registered in comparison. He rolled off Cas, trembling from head to toe, and stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. _Holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit._ The words played on a loop in his head. Only when he heard a low chuckle from Cas did he realize he was saying them out loud.

Cas pushed himself up on his elbow and looked down at Dean. "I take it that was good for you too," he said, his voice still rough as sandpaper.

Instead of trying to come up with words that would inevitably fail to do justice to how amazing he felt right now, Dean hooked a hand behind Cas's neck and pulled him into a kiss. It was less urgent than before, their need taken care of and only want remaining, but Dean found that his desire for this man had not diminished in the slightest. The sex had only sated one hunger. He still craved Cas's presence, the sound of his voice and the taste of his mouth, the warm, encircling safety of his arms. That had never happened before. Once the sex was over, he usually wanted his own space again. He didn't do cuddling.

"Will you stay?" Cas whispered, laying his head on Dean's chest right over his heart. "Will you be here when I wake up?" There was something almost childish in the question, as though he was afraid that Dean was a dream and would cease to exist come the daylight.

"Yeah," Dean said and held him a little tighter. "Okay."

~o0o~

**One year later**

"Honey, I'm home," Cas called as he shouldered the front door open, his hands full of bags. It was only sort of a joke.

"Hey, babe." Dean poked his head out of the kitchen, saw the bags, and immediately came to relieve Cas of his burdens and give him a peck on the lips. "How was your day?"

"It was okay." Cas sniffed the air and his mouth watered. "Getting better. Did you make steaks?"

"Mm-hmm. And garlic mashed potatoes and mushroom gravy. And I picked up dessert from that little bakery you like. Salted caramel apple pie."

"Oh, God, I love you," Cas moaned, pulling Dean in for a more thorough kiss.

"Love you too," Dean chuckled when he could talk again. "Where am I putting this stuff?"

Cas realized that Dean was still holding all his packages. Not that the weight seemed to be bothering his big, strong boyfriend at all. Cas took a second to admire the way Dean's tattoos moved as the muscles rippled beneath, the birds and flowers almost seeming to come alive. Then he said, "In the studio please."

Dean headed for the closed in porch at the back of the house that Cas had converted into a photography studio. That was only one of many changes that Cas's little house had undergone in the last year. The best change, of course, had occurred four months ago when Dean officially moved in.

Cas had just finished setting out plates and cutlery for dinner when Dean came back with a puzzled frown on his face. "Um, Cas? Are you pregnant?"

Cas blinked at the patently ridiculous question, then realized what Dean meant and laughed. "Oh. The baby toys. I was hired to do a newborn photo shoot, so I thought I should pick up some supplies."

Dean's confusion cleared. "Hey, that's great. That's, like, three jobs this month alone. You're really taking off."

"Yes," Cas said, the genuine pride in Dean's voice filling his chest with warmth. "It's not enough to allow me to do it full time yet, but I'm getting there. I figure when I have to start turning away clients because I don't have enough free time, then it'll make sense to quit my day job."

"How much longer do you think that'll take?" Dean asked as he bent to take the steaks out of the oven.

"Another six months maybe." Cas shamelessly admired the curve of his boyfriend's ass, already thinking longingly of "dessert". They had those scented candles left over from Valentine's Day. He loved the way Dean's tattoos looked in candlelight. "And you know once we're both self employed," he went on, watching Dean dish the delicious looking food onto two plates, "we'll have a lot more freedom. I think we should take a vacation. Take Baby on a nice long road trip."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Yeah? Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care. Anywhere. If you want we can just pick a random direction and drive until we find somewhere interesting. The only thing I care about is that you're there with me." He reached across the table and cupped Dean's cheek. "I love you so much," he murmured. "This has been the best year of my life, and I … I never want it to end."

"Hey. It's not going to." Dean was out of his seat in an instant and kneeling in front of Cas, squeezing his hands, looking intently into his eyes and willing him to believe. "Haven't you figured it out yet, baby? I'm in this for the long haul. I am never gonna get bored of you. You're … You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, and … Shit. I'm doing this all wrong. I meant to wait until after dinner, and I had this whole speech planned, but hey, spontaneous has always kind of been our thing."

Cas's brain was still scrambling to catch up and make sense of the turn the conversation had taken, but his heart understood perfectly what was going on, and when Dean pulled a little white leather box out of his pocket, it started beating double time. Dean flipped open the box to reveal a band of polished turquoise. There were words etched into it, and the grooves of the letters had been filled with silver. The dancing, flowing lines shimmered like moonlight on water, and what they said was this:_ For you to me are the only one._

"Castiel James Novak, will you be my husband?"

Cas looked from Dean to the ring and back to Dean, and he said the only thing he could think of. "Okay."

* * *

_Take a sad song and make it better - Hey Jude, by The Beatles_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly - Blackbird, by The Beatles_

_If the sun refused to shine, I would still be loving you - Thank You, by Robert Plant and Jimmy Page_

_Mary, don't you weep no more - actually an old gospel song, no known author, but Bruce Springsteen does the best version_

_Upon us all a little rain must fall - The Rain Song, by Robert Plant and Jimmy Page_

_For you to me are the only one - also from Thank You_


End file.
